


higher love (in acoustic)

by quillquiver



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: Cas rolls his lips together, looking up and giving a minute shake of his head as Dean thumbs his cheekbone. It’s leaps and bounds more contact than they’ve ever had outside of life-threatening situations, and that alone is throwing Castiel for the world’s largest “loop”. He wonders faintly if it’s possible to die of emotional excess.





	higher love (in acoustic)

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, how I'd like for the Empty to die + what happens after. The first kiss idea was totally taken from my roommate, who had the brilliance to suggest the image of Cas finding out the Empty was dead and jumping Dean because he's so overwhelmed. 
> 
> Title taken from James Vincent McMorrow's cover of Higher Love, which is gorgeous and everyone should listen to.

Castiel has had ample time to imagine how it would happen: in the heat of the moment during an argument, violent and hungry as they fought with teeth and tongue; during the aftermath of a hunt, running on adrenaline and the thrill of being unmistakably, painfully present and alive; in the quiet moments between jobs, soft and sweet and no big deal.

Cas never would have predicted it happen like this: here, with his heart fumbling into a race and throwing itself so violently against bone he’s sure it’s pounding itself into a pulp. Here, with his hands numb, totally soaked in a tingly, cold sweat and so aware of everything around him he’s certain he can feel heat from the Earth’s molten core through the rubber soles of his shoes.

Castiel does not speak. He does not think. He barely feels himself move.

But he must, he thinks hysterically, a moment after the fact. He must have raced across the five feet separating himself and Dean and fisted his filthy, mud and goo-encrusted green jacket, yanking him into a bruising, unforgiving, desperate kiss.

Cas knows he must have done this because his lips sting and his hands are still fisted in Dean’s clothing and he’s breathing as if he just ran a marathon.

“You said you killed the Empty?” he croaks.

Dean can barely manage a nod.

“And Michael?”

“…Yeah. He—he’s gone.”

There’s a tell-tale tightness in Cas’s chest and he breathes shaky and shallow. His vision blurs. “You’re certain?”

Dean smile is quiet, but it’s there. Castiel feels parts of himself unravel. “Pretty darned.”

“That was foolish.”

Dean says nothing. Cas doesn’t blink. If he blinks, he’ll be crying. It takes every ounce of strength he has to give a stiff nod and spin on his heel. He thinks he might be blushing to high heaven, and he feels sick, and he honestly isn’t sure if he wants to try and kiss Dean again, or rain down fire and fury for being left behind.

Castiel isn’t sure where he’s going other than  _away_ , but he barely gets three steps before Dean has grabbed his arm. “Hey,” he says, firm. “What’s up?”

“Let go, Dean.”

“Cas—”

“ _Please_.”

But Dean has never— _not once_ —done as he was told... so it’s no surprise when he gently turns Castiel to face him, keeping a careful grip on the right sleeve of his coat with one hand while the other moves up to catch the wetness on his cheek. “Cas, c’mon,” he says.

Cas rolls his lips together, looking up and giving a minute shake of his head as Dean thumbs his cheekbone. It’s leaps and bounds more contact than they’ve ever had outside of life-threatening situations, and that alone is throwing Castiel for the world’s largest “loop”. He wonders faintly if it’s possible to die of emotional excess.

Dean swallows thickly, worry bleeding into his posture and the gentleness of his hands. He’s gorgeous. “…I do somethin’ wrong?” he murmurs.

Cas counts the metal beams on the ceiling.

“You’re kinda worryin’ me over here, man. You okay? Did something malfunction?”

Blue eyes squeeze shut.

“ _Castiel_ —”

“I made a deal.”

Dean’s hand freezes.

“Not that it matters now, because The Empty is dead.” Cas’s punctuating laugh sounds hysterical even to his own ears. “Because you killed It. And Michael. And you left me here  _again_  while you went and risked your life when I had made a deal with It; Jack’s life in exchange for my own happiness. But I’ll never be happy, will I? Because you’ll always leave me behind. Because I’ll never be enough. Family is a word used to denote conditional love for a only handful of those you apply it to and I’m among them. And I just—I just realized that, I think. Right now. During the aftermath of a hasty kiss because I was overwhelmed by the possibility of loving you openly and unapologetically. Which I do. Love you. But you knew that, didn’t you? Not that it matters, now. I’m dying anyway. This is what death feels like. I’m. I—Can’t—I’m—”

Castiel’s vision is spotting, he’s suddenly freezing cold and he feels woozy and unsteady on his feet. He’s surprisingly calm for someone who is going to die, he thinks absently. Sound reaches him from an endless tunnel, and there is very suddenly a pressure on his back, breathing deep and steady. It takes a few moments for Cas to match that rhythm before he comes back to himself. Faintly, he can hear Dean speaking. His voice is low.

“You’re an asshole,” he says. “Breathe. In, out. Good. You listening, Cas? Yeah? You hear me? You’re an  _asshole_. Keeping breathing. That’s it, with me. Fuckin’—Jesus Christ. Okay. That’s great. Scared me shitless. Goddamn fuck.”

Castiel comes to and finds he’s sitting on a chair in the war room. He’s draped over a kneeling Dean, whose right hand is buried in his hair and left presses against his chest. Cas feels as if he’s been run over by multiple motor vehicles. His trembling hands move to wrap around Dean’s body and the man in question gives a shaking exhale.

Dean leans up. Their foreheads are press together. He’s so close Castiel can see every fleck of green and gold in his irises.

“Listen to me,” Dean says, firm and urgent and something else. “Family is unconditional for  _every fucking person_  I apply it to, including you. Jesus— _especially_ you. You fucking—you blind, idiotic pain in my ass, if I’ve left you behind any time within in the past year it’s only because I can’t stand to see you hurt. I fucking  _refuse_  to burn you again, Castiel, you hear me? I won’t do it. But it’s hard to keep you safe when you insist on throwing yourself on the sword every time one is in the goddamn room.

“And fine, I didn’t tell you about the fuckin’ death box. Okay. But cut me a little goddamn slack, here—I talked to you and three hours later I threw that entire plan out the friggin’ window. And still, after that—after  _all of that_ , you got the goddamn nerve to imply that I, what? Don’t love you? That I’m stringing you along? That I don’t care ’cause you’ll never be good enough?  _Bullshit_. Fucking  _bullshit_. You wanna talk about our actions, how about you  _fuckin’ explain to me_  why you made a deal with a cosmic-symbiote and didn’t share with the class, huh?”

Castiel feels his chest tighten in panic again, but Dean presses hard against his sternum, his other hand gentle as it rubs his back. He looks helpless. “…I know you, Cas. I know you did it for the kid. And I know you threw away your happiness like it was nothing because you don’t think what you want is within reach. I don’t know if that’s ’cause you don’t think you deserve it, or ’cause you think we mean more to you than you to us, or what---but that shit makes you righteously reckless.  _That_  is why I tell you to go on the easy hunts with Jack.  _That_ is why I took Sam to deal with Michael alone. And you’re an asshole if you think that after everything we’ve been through I don’t love you as goddamn fiercely as you love me.” Dean blinks rapidly here, looking down with a frown. “But hell,  _I’m_  the asshole who gave you a fucking panic attack ’cause I suck at showing people I care about them. So. Prob’ly shouldn’t listen to me.”

The lump in Cas’s throat is so big he can barely swallow. “You’re not an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, neither are you,” Dean scoffs, moving to bury his face in Castiel’s shoulder.

“You love me.”

“Yeah.”

“You love me  _fiercely_.”

“Guess I do.”

“Dean.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Cas, that’s not—” Dean pulls away, dragging a hand over his face. “That ain’t what I meant—”

“We’re spectacularly bad at this, aren’t we?” Cas says, nerves lurking under a lightness he doesn’t feel. He’s a mess. He’s never understood the figurative meaning of the word ‘fried’ until this afternoon. “Look, I—I will stop throwing myself on the sword if you trust me not to do so, but… but I will kindly inform you that if it were to come down to you or Sam or Jack or Mary and me, I still wouldn’t choose me. Not because I don’t love myself, or care about myself, but because that is who I am, and that is who I will continue to be. And... and you love me as I am. I think.”

Dean chews his lip, rolling his eyes. “Long as you know that I come with baggage the size of these United States.”

The corner of Cas’s mouth twitches up in a smile. “I do know that, yes.”

“Good. And you should also prob’ly be aware that I wouldn’t change anything in my life, even if I could. The way we met, the shit we put each other through, every freaking goddamn apocalypse, I wouldn’t change it. I like where I am now, and I ain’t leavin’.”

Cas’s smile widens and he dips his head in a nod, finger moving to brush the line of Dean’s jaw. “We’re in agreement, there.”

“Swell.”

“Mm.”

This kiss is worlds different than the last. Gentle is too cumbersome a word to describe it—whether due to hesitance or disbelief it’s more the ghost of a kiss; hands squeezing whatever and wherever they fell, brows meeting but lips barely touching. Even still, the imprint of the contact is like a brand on Cas’s mouth.

They pull away only to immediately come together again, with slightly more pressure this time. Dean smells like burnt lightning and radiation. They kiss again. And again. And again—sharing small, chaste demonstrations of affection until Castiel has lost count of them all. Dean’s tongue swipes against Cas’s bottom lip and he opens to him, leaning forward until he’s practically falling off his chair.

The kiss reaches its natural conclusion when they’re too busy smiling to move their lips together.

“You like kissing me.” Dean teases when Cas follows him, wanting more.

Castiel narrows his eyes. “You like kissing  _me_.”

Helping Cas to his feet, Dean catches him by the waist when his vision spots again, holding him until the head rush passes. “C’mon, let’s get some of Sam’s fancy green kale juice into you. I’m gonna wash the cosmic guts outta my hair and then I’ll… meet you in the Cave? We could watch a movie or something.”

Castiel leans forward and pecks a kiss to Dean’s filthy cheek. Even underneath the muck, he can see it glow pink.

“I’d like that.”


End file.
